


our endless numbered days

by pendules



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Non-Chronological, Post-Band, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven years from now, Harry and Louis have a fight that dredges up old hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our endless numbered days

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this was written in the summer of 2013, so this is not compliant with anything that happened after that. You can consider it an AU.
> 
> Warning for mentions of Liam/Danielle and Ed Sheeran/Taylor Swift.

_july, 2017_

One Direction officially ends on a hot, summer's day in July. It's not the worst day of Louis' life. It's sad, yes, but it's not the end of the world like it would've been four years ago, or even two. Things have changed pretty drastically. They have their own paths now and they have for a while.

The worst day comes five days after that.

Harry's here and he says, "We're going on tour." 

And Louis says, dumbly, "Oh, when?"

"I leave tomorrow."

And Harry's been dabbling with his own stuff for a couple years, and he has a band now too, but it's easy to forget sometimes, easy to forget he belongs to some other 'we' that's not _them_.

"For how long?"

"I'm not sure?" It sounds like an apology. It sounds like a goodbye. It sounds like an end, a real end.

"Harry - don't -" _Don't say that. Don't do it. Don't leave me here alone._ But - but he made a promise to himself months ago. It's already done.

"I have to do this, Lou," he says firmly. "I have to try. While I still can."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He doesn't though, not really. He doesn't understand his relentless need to give himself to other people, to give himself to the world, even he doesn't get much in return. Maybe he used to admire it though. Once.

"I'll see you, yeah?" And he's trying to smile but he's close to tears and Louis hates when he does that more than anything, and he's wrapping his arms around him and Louis' face is pressed against his shoulder and he can't say anything, not anymore.

"Yeah," he says. "Make sure you give me a ring when you're in town, okay? Don't be a stranger."

"I promise."

Louis doesn't see him again for a year and a half.

*

_july, 2025_

It's not perfect. It isn't. Louis makes sure everyone knows that it's not perfect. Because they fight about stupid things and they fight about serious things and there are regrets and hurt and years of emptiness between them that no amount of time together can truly fill and it's messy and bumpy and full of twists and turns and it's not perfect but they're _here_ , now.

They celebrated their third wedding anniversary last month in France and Louis practiced his horrendous French while Harry just rolled his eyes fondly and they'd walked around, hand in hand, and taken dumb pictures of each other and God, maybe they're _really_ getting old. When they'd gotten back, they'd visited Harry's mum. The bungalow's the same as it's ever been, but it's strange being there, after so much has happened. That place belonged to other people who aren't them anymore.

Harry's unusually quiet on the drive home.

He figures out why when he finds it later. It's a CD. They're demos. New songs. It has the fucking date on it. Two months ago. And he wasn't just 'hanging out with the guys', and Louis should have _known_.

*

They've had this fight before, or a version of it, anyway. It's different, though; it's different now. Because they've been together for five years and they've just started seriously thinking about adopting, and it's supposed to be behind them now. They're supposed to be a long way past this now. They're supposed to be on the same page.

"Were you going to _tell_ me? Or were you just going to say, 'I'm leaving tomorrow to go on tour for the next three years, see you whenever' like last time?"

"Louis, it's not like - It's not like _last time_. And don't act like you think it was _easy_ for me then."

"You - you couldn't _wait_ to leave," Louis bursts out, because how _dare_ him, how dare he try to play the victim right now. "You took off across the world with your band and I just - I didn't even know if you'd come back."

"Sometimes...sometimes I wish I _didn't_ ," he admits, and it hurts to hear, and it hurts Harry to say it too, he can see that. "But there never was a choice. You don't...you don't know what it was like - feeling like a piece of me was missing, like I left something behind. Every single day. For three years. I think I _wanted_ it to fall apart in the end. You - you don't know what it's like, giving everything up -"

" _I_ don't know what that's like? What did you think I did when you were gone? _Nothing._ Nothing but _wait_ for you. I was a fucking mess. And then it got better. And then -"

"Then I came back," he finishes, ominously. And they're heading into dangerous territory now.

"Yeah, you did. And I kind of hated myself for being so happy. Because it meant you failed. And it meant I'd never get out of my rut, do something worthwhile. Because nothing _happens_ when we're together. Everything just gets fucked up. And it's not fair. To either of us."

"What do you want from me, Louis." It's not a real question. He's just exhausted; he's tired of this, it doesn't come as naturally to him as it does to Louis. And there was a time when he believed they could get through anything, that they were stronger than anything life could throw in their path.

"Maybe I want you to not show up at my door five years ago with a guitar slung on your back asking to crash for a night. Maybe I want you to let me get over you."

He looks absolutely blindsided. Louis maybe wants to take it back, take it all back, and pack it neatly inside him where it's been resting all this time. But a part of him is glad it's out there now.

"Maybe - maybe I should go," Harry says, finally finding his voice. "I'll find a hotel or something, I'll -"

"No, no, _stay_. You don't get to leave this time." And it's vindictive and terrible and he regrets it as soon as he says it, but for a moment, just one tiny moment, it feels sort of good.

 _Definitely not perfect_ , Louis thinks as he walks out, out into the rain, out into the dark.

*

_june, 2022_

It's probably sappy and cliched as fuck to refer to his wedding as the best day of his life but it comes pretty close. Their mums cry in the front pew and Louis himself starts tearing up during Harry's vows and Harry cries and laughs wildly at the same time when Louis reads his. It's kind of adorable and so _Harry_ and Louis is ridiculously in love with him.

Adele is there to sing _One and Only_ for their first dance and Louis can't imagine a moment any better than this. (Harry says, "I knew I should've married her instead." "Asshole," Louis whispers, between his teeth.)

Liam, Zayn and Niall sing a medley of the most ridiculous songs they could come up with (varying from _My Heart Will Go On_ to _I Want It That Way_ ). They end, of course, with _What Makes You Beautiful_.

Ed brings Taylor, which isn't weird, and they sing _Everything Has Changed_ , which isn't weird, but when Ed admits years later that they hooked up for the first time that night, _that_ is a little weird.

There's this moment when Harry pulls him into a corner behind some flowers, just says, "This is it, right? Till the end? No matter what happens." And he looks scared. He looks like this is the only question that matters in the entire universe.

"Of course it is," Louis promises, holding him close.

*

_july, 2025_

Liam's not saying anything. Louis's dripping rainwater on his kitchen floor and he's not saying anything. Finally, he gives him a once-over.

"Tea?"

"Thanks."

"There's towels and stuff in the guest room. You can get dried up."

"Thanks." It's apparently the only word he can say right now.

"Danielle and the kids are asleep so be quiet."

"Okay."

*

The tea's ready when he comes back down, and he's mostly dry now, but his feet are cold on the tiled floor.

"Thanks," he says, accepting the cup.

Liam comes around the counter to lean against it next to where Louis is standing, folding his arms across his chest. He just watches him as he takes a couple sips. And he's not thinking about how Harry makes it so much better, he's not, he swears.

"Are you going back?" he asks eventually.

And this is Liam, this is why he's here, because no one knows, no one understands the way he does, the way only the five of them do. Liam knows how to not push, how to give him his own space to make his own decisions. Because he's not good with being told what to do - he and Harry have that in common - he's good at doing the opposite. 

He shrugs. He doesn't know this time. He genuinely doesn't.

*

(When Liam checks the guest room in the morning, he's gone.)

*

_july, 2013_

It's 3am and it was someone's birthday or something and Harry stinks of alcohol and he's crawling into Louis' bunk and he tries pushing him away but he's just _everywhere_ , suddenly, and they've done this a lot, in cramped places where people could probably hear them, before, back in the X Factor house and backstage on the tour and that feels so, so long ago but it wasn't, not really, and Harry's older and more experienced now but he still feels the same, just as desperate and urgent and he's rutting against him and maybe he lets him kiss him for a second or two, but then he's shoving him away, saying, "No, we can't, you're too drunk and too loud, we'll wake everyone up," and none of those are the real reasons why.

He forgets by the morning. Or at least Louis hopes.

*

_july, 2025_

Louis gets some of his clothes and stuff when he knows Harry won't be there.

And he's thinking about the house, for some stupid reason, and they'll have to sell it, obviously. It's too much _theirs_ ; it's never belonged to just one of them, and it never will. Everything in it was chosen by both of them, are extensions of both of them and their relationship, and Louis won't be able to look at any of it if - _If._

It's dumb to even think about it, but Louis's always prepared himself for the worst, even when he was a kid. It was just a fight, just one fight, and people say crazy things in the heat of the moment, things they don't mean... But maybe Louis did mean it; maybe he's always meant it, just never said it. And maybe Harry meant it too. Maybe he's always resented him in some way. It's not like Louis's never wondered before. But Harry's just so good at it - he always has been - at being selfless, at stuffing all his issues deep down inside and pretending everything's fine. Louis kind of hates that a lot right now.

He kind of hates himself too, for being too fucking selfish to ever see it. For never being able to let him go. At least not truly.

*

_august, 2012_

It hasn't even happened that much recently, just every couple weeks when they're bored or lonely or drunk or still on a high from a particularly amazing show, and even less since he and Eleanor have gotten serious. Sometimes, though, they almost slip up. And Louis's scared of getting caught and he's scared of ruining it, all of it, this band and his relationship with Harry, the best things that have ever happened to him.

Harry's young and reckless and he's sure no one will care, but it's still - it's dangerous. And it's not like it's real, they've never thought about it enough for it to become real (Louis's too afraid of what might happen if he does, and Harry's just enjoying life, enjoying hooking up with whoever's there and willing), so maybe it's not worth the risk.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this anymore," he says abruptly, and they're just lying in a hotel room, after, clothes back on, watching telly, like nothing had ever happened. 

Harry looks over at him, confused. "What -?"

"I just think - Everything's already complicated as it is. Maybe we don't need any extra complication. Do you know what I mean?"

Harry looks thoughtful for a second, then he just nods. "Yeah, okay, if you want."

And that's supposed to be the end of it.

*

_july, 2025_

He's in a hotel room, and it's quiet and empty and awful, and he can't remember the last time he was alone in one. Maybe he never has been.

He's just wondering if this was a fucking stupid idea in the first place - putting some space between them instead of actually talking about it - wondering if he should call him - And then his phone rings.

It's Zayn. And shit, Liam must have been worried, because he'd just taken off and he obviously wasn't in the best headspace, and of course he'd called Zayn, because Zayn has basically become an expert over the years at dealing Louis when he's like _this_.

"Hey, mate, where are you?" he asks, innocently.

"At a hotel." He sighs.

"Have you considered that maybe -" he starts, gently.

"Maybe I'm being an asshole and I should apologise?"

"Yeah, that."

"It's not that simple -"

"You two have never been simple, Louis. That's the point."

"I just - I keep wondering if it was all just a mistake."

"What do you mean?" He sounds really concerned for the first time.

"I mean - all of it. Us."

"God, Louis, you don't mean that. You love each other."

"Yeah, but maybe we've never been _good_ for each other."

Zayn doesn't even know what to say then, and maybe it's better that way. Nothing he says will make a difference anyway.

"You owe him an explanation at least," he says eventually. "You can't just - You can't just drop this on him. Whatever you're thinking of doing -"

"I won't. You know I won't do that to him."

"Okay, okay," he says, sounding kind of lost and small, and so unlike Zayn. "Jesus, this is so fucked-up, Louis."

It's kind of weird, thinking about how this affects so many other people and not just the two of them. How it always did. And maybe it was easy, once, to believe it, to see what everyone else saw, to be fooled by the mirage, the illusion of some kind of greater love. Maybe the illusion is finally breaking, finally falling to pieces.

It was easy, back then, to slip into that idea created in their minds, that world created for them, slip into it and wear it. But they never were those people. People just wanted them to be, so, so badly. And maybe eventually they bought into it too. The idea that it was all meant to be. It never was; it was all just a fluke. A chance meeting. Sheer dumb luck. A ripple effect of completely random events and decisions that just happened to bring them to that place. 

In hindsight though, maybe it lasted longer than he'd ever thought it would.

*

_june, 2022_

_lou, i didn't know what love was until i met you. i didn't know what real happiness was. i didn't know who i was until i found you. thank you, for that, and for everything you've given me. everything i do is to try to repay you for that. you make me want to be better. you make me think i can be._

_thank you. i love you._

_i've loved you since you violated urinal etiquette to talk to me. i love who you were then and i love who you've become. i love who you've been every single day since i met you. i love whoever you'll become as we make our future together._

_i love you, harry._

*

_july, 2025_

It's been a week. A week of radio silence. Louis's even taken to browsing gossip sites, but there's nothing. No one knows yet. And there hasn't been a sighting of Harry for over a month (and that was them, together, in France for their anniversary - Louis freezes as the gallery comes up, and then closes the window a moment later). Whatever he's doing, he's not doing it in public, obviously. He's hardly ever home either though. Louis's gone by at random hours to get more of his stuff, and he wasn't there both times. The bed looked like it hasn't been slept in for a while too. Maybe he's holed up with Nick or someone. Or Niall. Louis hasn't heard from him at all, although he definitely knows. Secrets don't ever last long in One Direction, evidently not even when they've been broken up for eight years.

It's been a week and this is as long as he'd decided he would allow himself.

Now, it's time to make a choice.

He has to talk to Harry. This is essential. But he has to figure out what he wants before this conversation happens.

There are a few options: more time apart, a reconciliation, something else...something drastic and stupid and everything Zayn warned him against.

It's ridiculous. It's utterly ridiculous. It was just a fight. It's been a week. He's not going to leave Harry for good. It's... 

Something to think about.

*

_august, 2010_

It's the middle of the night and Harry's splashing around the pool completely naked while Louis floats on his back, gazing up at the stars. There's a huge grin on his face that won't leave for a long, long while.

"Can you even believe this, Haz?" he stage-whispers at him. "We're in fucking Spain and Simon fucking Cowell just sent us through to the live shows? Can you believe that?"

Harry emerges from under the water, shoving hair out of his eyes, and grins too. 

"I feel like we should be getting drunk," he says, kicking water at Harry lazily. "Where is everyone anyway?"

"Sleeping? Long day?" Harry suggests.

Louis rolls his eyes. "I feel like I could never sleep again."

"Please. Say that when we're trying to roll you out of bed at noon tomorrow."

Louis splashes some more water at him and Harry retaliates and then they're having a splash fight like they're children at 2am in a foreign country when all their dreams might've just come true.

They eventually tired themselves out and they laugh off the remaining ecstasy.

And then there's a complete silence. And Harry's drifted way closer than he was and they're just staring at each other, treading water, keeping afloat, and Louis is suddenly so grateful to be there, to have him with him. The weight of his gaze is almost enough to sink him for a moment.

"I'm glad that sea urchin didn't kill you," Harry says, mock-seriously.

"Hey, I thought we were having a moment," and it's supposed to be a joke, really, only then Harry leans right in and kisses him. He tastes like chlorine and salt and that stupid fruity drink he had earlier and something else, something he can't quite detect, but it's something that's so _right_.

*

Harry falls asleep on his shoulder on the plane and Louis has no idea what's going to happen next but he's excited to meet it anyway.

*

_july, 2025_

He literally types: _how to divorce someone_ in the search bar and then backspaces it, closes the window, pauses, opens a new window, deletes his history, closes the window, closes his laptop.

He paces.

He thinks about the break-ups he's had in his life. There was Hannah, and it hurt because she represented when his life was simple and laid-back and _normal_ , but then it wasn't and he wasn't the same person either and she was probably better off without him and all the crap that came with being his girlfriend, he convinced himself. Convinced her too. Or he thought he had, at least. She didn't sell him out to the papers or anything so that was good. 

Eleanor wasn't as easy. He'd loved her, in that real, grown-up way you dream about a lot until you actually have it and the dreams are shattered. Because it's worse and it's better and it's definitely not simple in the slightest. Because being in grown-up love means _being_ grown-ups. So, it's not a fairy tale and it's not puppy love and it's not the end of the world when it's over and you don't cry for days and days into a pint of Haagen-Dazs while you listen to sad music, but it's _real_. It's the kind of natural, nuanced partnership that lasts, or is supposed to last. He loved her, yes, but he was part of something, they both were, and their relationship was bigger than the sum of their parts. 

There were other people, in between, between his first real love and his last, but they're not really worth the consideration. There was Clara, who was mostly bored and boring (it probably was the drugs), which lasted only a couple months and ended shortly before the band did. And there was James, who was an asshole, about a year after Harry left. It was unhealthy and probably bordering on abusive but Louis didn't think he had much to lose anyway. He only left, eventually, when he realised that he did.

*

_january, 2019_

He doesn't call. Louis knows he's in town, can probably find his hotel, can probably go there now, or call, or... But he didn't call.

He doesn't know what he'd say if he did anyway.

_I'm living with this guy. Yeah, it's okay, it's great, except when he gets drunk and throws whiskey bottles at my head._

It's been six months. Louis knows the stats, knows the longer you stay, the less chance you get out. He reads domestic abuse statistics as a hobby now. This is his life. If Harry could see him now.

Harry... He doesn't even know Harry anymore. The Harry he knows is gone, just like the Louis from two years ago. The Louis who was excited to see where his new life would take him. It makes him laugh sometimes, to think about that. How naive and fucking stupid he was. 

Harry is...world-weary, beaten-down, now. By failure, by scathing reviews, by assholes from indie magazines who have a vendetta against this one past boyband member who has the gall to think he could be one of them, could get into their elite fucking circle. It wasn't ever going to be easy for him, to be taken seriously, to establish himself as a credible artist. Maybe he didn't ever think it'd be this hard though. So, yeah, he's lashed out at people in interviews a couple times and he's shown up to a couple gigs drunk or stoned or both and there are always the rumours surrounding him about addiction and depression and a wild sex life, girls, guys, orgies, anything and everything. Louis's followed it all, the whole damn trainwreck. He's sticking it out though. He's not giving up. Louis admires that more than anything, always has.

The way he shuts it all out, the way it's just him and a stage and a guitar.

Louis wonders if he closes his eyes and imagines he's playing to an empty arena. 

Louis looks out from the crowd and he doesn't see anyone else either. There's only him.

He has a flash of nine years ago, the two of them alone in a pool, the two of them alone in a hotel room, the two of them completely alone on a stage whenever they looked at each other.

The last song is one Louis plays on repeat in the dark. It's not about someone else like the others are; it's about Harry. It's about leaving home so many times that you aren't sure where home is anymore. It's about finding one thing to hold on to to bring you back.

Louis is sure that Harry looks right at him as he sings the final note.

*

"You didn't call," he says, standing backstage, the closest to him he's been in a year and a half.

"Sorry," he mutters. There's no excuse, no explanation. Up close, he looks older, he looks weathered and frayed, he looks like he hasn't slept in years, he looks like a shadow. 

Louis doesn't even want to know what _he_ looks like.

"You wanna go for a drink or something?" he asks, because it seems like the thing to do.

"We're flying out in the morning, maybe I shouldn't..."

"Come on, one drink," because he's not giving up. Not so easily. Not this time.

"Okay."

*

They walk through the grey slush left behind from the snow melting and Harry's hands are in his coat pockets and he wonders if he's still as cold as he used to be, remembers when he used to take his hands and rub them between his own, smaller ones and blow on them. He used to say it made him feel like a kid again.

He takes his hat off instead and puts it on Harry's head.

"I'm okay," he says before Harry can ask.

*

The pub's quiet and no one recognises them and they just sit in silence sipping their drinks for a while.

"I - I really am sorry. For not calling, I mean. It slipped my mind. Being on the road, you know -"

"Yeah, I know," Louis answers quickly.

"We're recording a new album in a couple weeks," he says.

"Oh, that's exciting."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, like it isn't at all.

"Then you're back on tour?"

"Yeah, basically." He shrugs.

Louis expected this. He expects him to keep going until he physically can't anymore. He expects him to keep doing it until he can prove himself right, or prove everyone else wrong. Do it until they have no choice to accept that he's here to stay.

"I'm living with this guy," he says. As they're catching up.

"Yeah, I think I read that. Good for you." Louis is just imagining it, the look in his eye, the one that says he doesn't quite mean it.

"Yeah, good for me."

They toast to that.

It doesn't last much longer. Louis gives him a hug outside the hotel. It's colder than anything's ever been between them. It's then he realises it's all been in vain. This Harry is a stranger to him. He's been waiting for someone who doesn't exist anymore. And he can't do it anymore. 

*

Louis packs a suitcase and leaves for good that night.

*

_july, 2025_

He told him, about James, eventually. Harry had kind of gone mad then. When Louis wouldn't tell him, he'd trashed the house looking for an address or phone number written down somewhere that didn't exist. He'd never seen him so angry. He'd probably never been this angry in his life, not even when he was going all Noel Gallagher on the press. Louis hadn't kept anything of James'. He's grateful he didn't. He's almost one-hundred percent sure Harry would've actually murdered him if he could find him. (Every time he meets someone named James, he still tenses up.)

He doesn't get it, doesn't believe him when he says James couldn't have hurt him. Nothing he did was ever as painful as the things he did to himself. Nothing he did could compare to not having Harry.

It wasn't a real break-up because it wasn't a real relationship. Not like with Eleanor or Hannah.

With Harry, it's not just a relationship though. It's a life.

Louis doesn't know if he can bring himself to fracture that life. To tear it apart. Tear himself in two. If the alternative is this though, hurting each other and being powerless to stop it, being stuck in some kind of stalemate forever... Frozen in time.

Is living without each other better than that? Is living without each other even possible?

*

_july, 2014_

It's over, it's done, and maybe it shouldn't feel like a weight's been lifted but it kind of does. She hadn't cried. She hadn't cried, over phone lines and over oceans. 

And he wants to tell him. He wants to do it. Now. He doesn't want to wait a second more. He still remembers his breath on his neck and his low, muttered words and the weight of him, the warmth and smell of him, and it's been a year, a whole year since the last time, and he can't stop thinking about it. 

They've been growing apart, and it's not strange or awkward, it's just natural now. They're their own people, they have their own friends, their own lives. But some nights, he still wishes he'd crawl into his bed and they'd watch a movie and eat popcorn and pass out. Like old times. He has this odd thought sometimes, like it's coming to an end, he and Harry, the band, all of it. And he can't let that happen. 

He walks down the hall to Harry's room. And there's a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door. Which is weird, but he's probably sleeping, he's probably tired from the show -

Only then there are sounds coming from the room which completely debunk this theory. And Louis just stops.

Because he's just broken up with his girlfriend of four years, over the phone, because he never sees her anymore, because of the fucking band and the fucking tour and his fucking life. And Harry isn't there. Harry isn't there and he can't tell him that he was a fucking idiot and he didn't want this, he never wanted them to become _this_ , he wanted them to be like they were forever, and more still, so much more. 

Louis wants to tell Harry he loves him, has always loved him, but he's fucking someone else two rooms over.

He walks back to his room, closes the door firmly behind him. He decides if it's all going to go up in flames, he's going to let it.

Even if he has to toss the match himself.

*

_july, 2025_

It's been two weeks and Louis bumps into him at the coffee shop. As if they couldn't think to maybe go somewhere else than their usual spot. Maybe it doesn't matter anymore. They need to do this.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Wanna sit down?"

"Okay."

"Where've you been staying?" Like it's small talk. Like they're back in the winter of the first time he came back. Like they barely know each other.

"At Niall's," he says, without any fight. Louis nods. The first place he'd run to was Liam's after all. They tend to keep this stuff in the family.

"How's he?"

"Fine, fine." It's impatient, dismissive, and Harry's never impatient. But then again he's never seen Harry like this before, even during his darkest period, so scared and wrecked and lost. Because he's never left Harry before.

"Harry, I -"

"Are you going to come home?" he asks sharply. And Louis's been surprised, surprised he hasn't called, that he's been hiding all this time. That he hasn't initiated contact. Because he's always been better at that. But this is it - they've come to it. He's afraid of the answer to this question. Louis wonders if he says _yes_ if he'd just say _okay, let's go home_. If that'd be the end of it. If he can solve all of this, solve fifteen years of this, with one word.

"It's not - It's not that simple," and fuck, he's tired of hearing himself say that.

"Well, what is it then? I need you to tell me what you need. I don't know what I'm supposed to do -"

"You can't - you can't just _fix_ this, Harry."

"Well, I'm not just going to let it fall apart either. Jesus, Louis, don't do this - don't give up on this."

Maybe he's always been too good at giving up on things though. Maybe it's always been easier that way. It's easy to blame Harry for this, but it's always been him. He was the one who broke it off the first time and got a girlfriend and let the band split up and didn't fucking tell him to stay. Never fucking told him what he wanted, and he still can't. He can't.

"I - I have to go. I'll call you or come by or something. Sometime."

And then he's gone.

*

_august, 2015_

It's the first summer they've had off in years and years. It's the longest they've been away from each other since they met. He's thinking about it a lot these days, if they'd never met. Maybe he would have gone to uni and then got a teaching job after, maybe he would have settled down with someone (Hannah, maybe Eleanor, but then again Harry had introduced them and how fucked-up is that), maybe he'd have been happy.

Harry's off on some tiny, obscure island in the Mediterranean with a name that he can't even pronounce and there aren't any paparazzi shots of him, just a couple low-quality phone pictures taken by tourists. Louis doesn't even know who he's there with, but that's them now, that's how it's been since he told him he broke it off with Eleanor. (He hadn't asked much about it, just said how sorry he was, and didn't bring it up again. It's not like he was around to see how he was doing anyway.) 

Louis didn't ever think there'd come a day when all the shit in the tabloids, about Harry wanting out, about his high-profile flings being some form of rebellion, about the band crumbling from the inside, would actually hit close to the truth. Maybe they're all fed-up now. Zayn's even more withdrawn and he spends most of his time talking to Perrie or his family on the phone. Liam's hanging out with Pharrell a lot in the studio. Niall's mostly the same but he's writing a bunch of songs, on his own, just him and his guitar. He plays some for them sometimes and it's just - it's not for them, they all know that. It's just another sign of the end that's looming ahead of them.

Harry hardly talks to him anymore. There was a curt goodbye and half-hug at the airport and he hasn't heard from him, not a text, not anything, in three weeks.

He goes back home and pretends it's just a normal summer; he's just a normal guy visiting his family during the school holidays, he's not an internationally famous popstar who had a huge public break-up a year ago with a girl he was in love with once, who's probably in the closet according to the papers, who's probably going to fade into irrelevance when this is over according to the internet, who's _definitely_ in love with his best friend and bandmate...although the former maybe isn't true anymore and every day the latter gets closer to not being true either.

He takes a lot of walks, his feet automatically tracing out routes he's walked his whole life. It's 2am and he remembers a pool in Spain and swimming under the stars. He remembers Harry's mouth on his, chest against his, hands all over him, his touches almost like electric sparks underneath the water. His smile was electric too, wild and youthful and...someone else's.

He wonders where Harry is now, if he's drifting in the Mediterranean, eyes closed, and thinking about the same thing. Or if he's forgotten all of it now that the haze is gone. The haze caused by new success and new fame and new love. Nothing's new anymore. It's all old and beaten-up and tattered. Loving Harry isn't new anymore and he thought it always would be. He thought there would always be this little part of his heart, coiled tightly most of the time, that would spring free every time he looked at him or smiled at him. It's gone rusty with lack of use now.

He still loves him, but it's this dull, faded kind, like background noise, like a ticking clock you don't hear unless it's absolutely silent. Louis doesn't want it to go away completely though. He wouldn't be able to bear it.

He wonders if he stays here long enough if he could forget who he is. If he could forget the last five years. If gradually the world would forget his name too. If Harry would. If he'd fade away until Harry couldn't even hear him in the absolute silence.

Louis's stubborn when he really wants to be though.

His fingers automatically dial his number.

"Hey, how are you?"

"Hey, Lou," he says quietly. He sounds weird. Lonely and distant.

"Having fun?"

"Yeah, I went surfing yesterday," he says, and Louis can tell he's smiling now. That he's proud to tell Louis this.

"Really? How was it?" he asks, starting to feel like himself again.

"Bloody awful." 

They both laugh. And then there's a small silence. Louis wants to say _I miss you_ , and he doesn't just mean the last three weeks, he means he's missed him the last year, he's missed them laughing, missed the way Harry smiled just for him. He wants to say, _I broke up with her because of you._ He wants to tell him, now, that he's thought long and hard about this life without him and he wouldn't take it, not for anything. Because maybe it's fucked them up, the very thing that brought them together, but having Harry makes it all worthwhile. Even now.

Instead, he says, "Do you ever think about what you'd be doing if the band never happened?"

"I don't know, Lou. This, maybe." And he doesn't know what he means. _Talking to you. Travelling the world. Being away from you._

It's maybe the closest he's ever felt to him since he was an inch away from him in that pool, his eyes as bright as the stars above them.

"I should probably go. Good night, Harry."

"Night, Lou," he says, although it's not night-time there. Or here, technically, but. But. It almost sounds like it could be okay between them again.

It's enough. He'll take it. He can leave that other person behind now.

*

They release their fifth studio album before the year's out and prepare to go out on the road again.

*

_july, 2025_

_is this it? are you ready for your beatdown?_

Louis hasn't checked his phone in two days, and there's a couple missed calls apiece from Niall and Liam and one text from Zayn.

He'd almost forgotten about that but Zayn forgets nothing. It was a couple days after they told everyone and the first time that he was alone with Zayn.

"If you hurt him, I'll beat the shit out of you," he'd casually said, taking a sip of his beer.

"What? Aren't you supposed to tell _him_ that?" Louis had said, half-jokingly.

"He'd never hurt you though," he'd replied, seriously.

And Harry wouldn't. Not ever. Not intentionally. Louis's always been the one to do the dirty work. And he's been terrible and awful and hurt him so much already. Maybe this is why he can't bring himself to do any more damage right now.

"You said you'd talk to him," Zayn says as soon as he answers.

"I did."

"Bullshit."

"What am I supposed to say? That I'm so fucking selfish that I'd rather break his heart now than wait for this to fall apart completely?"

"You don't know -"

"I don't know? He went away for three years and when he came back I barely recognised him. Or myself."

"Louis -"

"Zayn, I can't, I can't do it again." It comes out almost like a sob.

"But is this easier?"

"It's better than deluding ourselves."

The last thing he hears is Zayn's defeated sigh before he hangs up.

*

_august, 2025_

He's just standing in the middle of the living room. It's almost dusk and shadows are falling onto the wood floors, his own among them. He looks up at the clock on the opposite wall, and he almost expects it to have stopped. But it's still going, still ticking away, like nothing happened in this house at all a couple weeks ago. His mum bought that clock as a housewarming present, maybe as a comment on his lateness, or maybe it's something else. Maybe it's about appreciating that this isn't just a house filled with furniture and things and pictures in frames, just snapshots of a life. There's time in this house. It's soaked into the floors and the carpets and walls and every chair and table and lamp. There are ghosts in this house, and he's one of them. He can almost hear Harry padding across the tiled kitchen floor, maybe calling, "You want pancakes, babe?"

Tick, tick, tick, and he's snapped back to reality.

And God, his mum, maybe he should call her. She gave him away at his goddamned wedding, for fuck's sake. But he doesn't even know how to begin that conversation. How to say, _maybe it was never right, maybe we've always wanted different things_ , how to explain that, how to explain all the intricacies and history and the tiny little cracks that have always been there but are widening, turning into earthquake faults.

It's not fair, it's so not fair, that he got five years of this, five years of knowing what it's like, only to have to give it up.

He considers calling Harry, maybe telling him he can move back in, whatever, he'll give him his space now, but his finger just hovers over his number and then he stops.

He leaves his key under the mat, wonders if he'll ever come back here and call this place home.

*

_september, 2021_

It's been a year. A year. A year and the only things in his flat are things he had before or things they bought together and he keeps telling him they'll make space for his stuff, he promises, but Harry always delays it. There are still posters in boxes that he hasn't hung up and their DVD and CD collections are still separate and Louis remembers a time when they didn't know what belonged to who and they didn't care either way. It's not the same, he knows - they were teenagers then and carefree and they didn't have to worry so much about permanence because when you're young, things change so fast and you don't even realise it, you just adapt. Now, it's all Louis ever seems to think about. If this is going to last.

Sometimes he wonders if anything's really changed that much in a year. Because, yeah, everyone knows now, and Harry refers to himself as his boyfriend unironically and it makes him cringe but also smile so hard (when no one's looking) but it still feels that their lives are disjoint. Because Louis has his radio show and his own friends and the little life he built for himself in the city and Harry hangs out with his band and all the people he's met from three years on the road. Maybe the only thing connecting them, now, is a boyband that broke up four years ago. Zayn's touring and recording and basically being an international R&B superstar, although they do go out for drinks with him and Perrie whenever they can make it. Niall's around for beer and XBox about twice every month and that's the same as it's always been. Liam has his family and he checks in as much as possible. But otherwise, they're all alone in this flat full of all this stuff that doesn't ever quite feel like _theirs_. And Louis misses that so much, when they were almost one single entity, when it felt like their lives were so interwoven that they'd never be able to extricate themselves from each other. Of course, it happened far too easily in the end. And maybe they can't quite put it back together.

*

"This is your home too," he says, exasperatedly, one day when he's had enough.

Harry looks up from where he's making a PB&J. "What?" he asks, confused.

"I mean, you don't have to ask me to have people over and you don't have to put your shoes away before you get into bed and you can hang up your picture with Elton John, I know you're dying to."

"But -"

"Please, Harry," Louis says, coming to stand right in front of him at the counter. "It's driving me crazy. I just - I want things to go back to normal." 

But what he's talking about hasn't been their normal in almost a decade. And maybe it's impossible, because they've both changed so much. Maybe Louis will always have trust issues and Harry will always look for the exits but they're both in this for good now. There's no going back.

Harry puts the knife down and just breathes in before he looks at him.

"But I'll only have to take it down later."

"Harry -"

"I found us a house."

"What?" he asks, in awe.

"It's beautiful. There's this great little garden with a swing set. And lots of space if your sisters come to visit and an amazing rec room that Niall will love and a kitchen my mum would probably kill me for. Wood floors. Floor to ceiling windows. Wraparound porch. And there's a pool." He almost loses his breath as he finishes.

"Okay," Louis says, still stunned.

"Do you want to come see it with me?" he asks, expectantly.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

He hugs Harry then, partly to hide his own tears.

*

_august, 2025_

He's sitting in the lobby drinking all by himself when the song comes on. He stops with his glass halfway to his mouth. He hasn't heard the song in years probably, or it seems like it, except for when his mother's visiting and she insists they break out the wedding video.

_I dare you to let me be,  
Your one and only_

It's stupid. It's just a song. But he's remembering Harry's face in the coffee shop and remembering his smile the last time they danced to this and he's caused it - he's done this to him, to them, he's taken away their happy ending. The one they worked so hard for, the one they deserve after years and years of drifting apart and losing themselves and hurting each other, and it's not fair. Not to either of them.

He's always so fucking good at ending things on his own terms, because he doesn't know if he'll survive the fallout when it inevitably ends on its own. Like everything always does.

Harry's more important than that though, he's always been. And it's not perfect, never was perfect, but it matters more than anything he's ever done in his life.

He's not sure what happens now but it's time to stop running from it.

*

He checks out of the hotel. He goes home.

The bed's exactly as they left it after their fight. He slides under the covers, closes his eyes, hands reaching over to Harry's side automatically. They find his pillow and he clutches it, breathes deeply into it, falls asleep like that.

*

_december, 2016_

Clara doesn't invite him home for Christmas. Louis isn't even sure it's a real relationship anymore, or if it ever was, really. It's easy to feel as numb as she does when he's around her though. He'd only picked her up in the first place because he was drunk and angry and Harry was starting a new fucking band and it's supposed to be good between them, it is, but there's no going back now.

It's weird when Harry says he's going home for Christmas, not jet-setting to some far-off land of wonders or heading to the studio with his new best mates. It's even weirder when he says, "You should come with me."

*

His mum and step-dad aren't even there. They've gone skiing over the holiday. And it's just he and Harry in a house he hasn't been in for almost four years. A house that felt like home then because it was Harry's but now just feels like it belongs to strangers. Even Harry looks like he's not entirely comfortable here though, and Anne's apparently rearranged the entire kitchen since he's last been home and he takes forever to find everything.

He makes dinner and they eat in silence and Louis wonders what he's doing here, why he brought him here at all.

He's just about to ask a question while Harry's putting their dishes in the sink when he says, brightening suddenly, "Let's go see the bungalow."

*

"It's freezing, you idiot," Louis says, but Harry pays him no attention, stripping down to his underwear.

"That doesn't sound like you," Harry teases. And he wants to say, _How would you know?_ But that - that's harsh, and would bring them back to reality too quickly, like plunging your entire body into freezing cold water all at once.

Which is what Harry avoids, gingerly entering the water until he's submerged.

"See, it's not so bad," he calls.

And Louis - Louis used to be this other person once. The one who leapt first. But that's what got him into this mess in the first place. 

Harry's looking at him now though, questioning and heartbreaking and fuck, Louis still wants so much, wants to make him happy, wants to give him everything, even the things he never, ever could, the things that he needs that are so bad for him, for both of them.

He gets in the water.

*

Afterwards, Harry's shivering, wrapped up in a towel, and Louis takes another to his hair, rubbing vigorously. When he pulls back, he can't help but let out a tiny snort of laughter.

"What?" he asks, staring at him.

"Baby Tarzan," he says, but it's soft, fond.

"I hate you," Harry says, futilely attempting to smooth down his hair.

"You love me," Louis says, smiling, and then Harry's looking at him again, suddenly alert, and he's not sure who moves first, but they're kissing.

Louis wants to take him inside and fuck him gently, touch every inch of his skin, kiss all the places he hasn't been allowed to in three years. Three years that felt like drowning, that felt like starvation, from oxygen and his mouth and his hands.

His hands are everywhere now though, his neck, his chest, his back, his ass, and his mouth never leaves Louis', an inexorable pressure, somehow pulling and pushing simultaneously.

They make it to the living room and then Harry's pulling him down onto the rug. He adjusts himself over him, knees bracketing his hips.

He pulls away just to say, "Please, Louis, I _want_ -" 

"Okay," he says, and he's getting his fingers under the waistband of his still-wet underwear and pulling them down off his hips. As soon as his cock's exposed, hard and ready, Louis takes it in his mouth. Harry's hips thrust off the floor and he breathes in sharply, fingernails digging into the rug. Louis knows he's trying to control himself and it's hotter than it should be.

Louis pulls off before he comes, an excruciating few minutes later. He's breathing hard, beads of sweat on his forehead although they were both in a freezing cold pool moments before. Louis loves seeing him like this, undone and wrecked, but out of pleasure, out of how much he wants Louis. Louis can't give him everything, but he can give him this, even if it's just for awhile.

He rolls over on his side to face Louis now, and his breath touches his skin when he says, "Do you want -"

"Yeah," he says, hoarsely.

He gets his hand inside Louis' briefs and around him and he takes his time, looking him in the eyes, knowing what it does to him, and when comes, he captures his moan with his mouth.

They clean themselves up and Harry pulls a blanket from off the couch on top of both of them and they just stay there, wrapped around each other.

*

In the morning, he calls her and tells her it's over.

*

They don't talk about it the entire week. They don't go swimming again but they go to the market and Louis helps him cook dinner and they watch Christmas movies and they jerk each other off as _God Only Knows_ plays during the credits.

It's nice but it's not real. They both know that. It's not going to last. It'll never last because Louis needs him too much and Harry wants too many other things. And he has to let go this time for good even if he risks drowning.

The last night before they leave, they eat pasta and watch _It's A Wonderful Life_ and Harry doesn't kiss him, just says, "It's over now, isn't it?"

"Yes," is all Louis responds, and Harry's hair is tickling his neck but he doesn't move for a long time.

*

On the second of January, they announce the hiatus.

*

_september, 2020_

He's been sleeping in the guest room for two months. He'd sold his house before he'd left, and he's looking for flats. It's been weeks but there's always something wrong with all of them.

It's the seventh place he's been to and he's going on and on about how it's too cold and minimalistic and modern, all metal and white tile, and he wants warmth and wood floors and _home_. And it's so stupid, because the last place was 'too outdated' and Louis wants to call him out on his bullshit so bad that he finally does.

"You don't want to get your own place, because you're still thinking about leaving. You haven't even unpacked any of your stuff since you've been here."

"What are you even talking about?"

"I just want to know why you keep running away."

"That's not what it's about," Harry says, and he looks frustrated.

"What is it about then? You left five days after we made the announcement, Harry. _Five days_."

"That's not fair. It wasn't my fault that it was time for it to end. Everyone else wanted to do their own thing too."

"Yeah, but everyone else didn't cut me out of their life."

" _You're_ the one who ended it," he says, and he knows this has nothing to do with the band now, nothing to do with anything else. It's been eight years, and this is the first time Harry's ever mentioned it, and everything just stops.

"It's not - it's not about _that_ ," Louis starts, uselessly.

"Of course it is. Everything's always been about that." And he looks so tired and scared and more exposed, more broken than Louis's seen him in years and years, not when the band broke up and not when he realised it was time to accept that it wasn't going to work out, but he's thinking about the night he showed up here and he said he didn't have anywhere else to go and he passed out on the same couch that's between them now. Louis doesn't even know why he came in the first place, why he let him stay, when things had been rocky between them for ages.

"I thought it would be for the best, I thought -"

"But did you think to ask me what _I_ wanted?"

"Jesus, Harry, you were eighteen years old. You didn't _know_ what you wanted."

Harry just laughs derisively and it's like a punch to the gut. "And that's you, right, you always know _exactly_ what's right for me."

And it's so bitter and awful and Louis doesn't even know this part of him, the part of him that's become cynical and jaded, by life, by love, by putting so much of himself into things that have ultimately failed him; that's become pretty clear to see.

"I didn't run from you, Louis. I came back. I didn't know if you'd want to see me, if you'd let me in the door, but I had to know. Because it never really ended, did it?"

And Louis can't risk it, not now, not this time. Can't risk him walking out the door and never coming back, can't risk another eight years of all the fucking misery he put himself through, can't risk not at least trying to have everything he's ever wanted.

Harry just stares at him, like he's giving him everything, his heart and his soul and his happiness, trusting him with them like he did ten years ago, trusting him to keep him safe.

The world has fucked them both up pretty good but Louis decides it's not going to have this. Never this.

Harry looks like he's about to turn away, like it's been too long without a response, but he just grabs his wrist, says, "Wait," soft but firm.

And then he's gripping his jaw gently and kissing him. Harry just melts right against him, wraps his arms around his waist, and makes these low, pleased sounds into his mouth.

When they pull away for breath, Louis says, "Bed."

Harry shakes his head. "Couch."

"Okay."

*

Harry's face is buried in his neck and his hair tickles as much as he remembers but it's fine, it's great. Louis's just running his fingers up and down Harry's spine, enjoying the feel of him shivering against him.

He finally looks up at him though, and Louis' hand stops midway down his back as he says, "Hey. I love you."

And he tenses up for a moment, because they've never said it before, not like this, but Harry's saying it now like it's just a reminder.

"Yeah, I know," he says, relaxing again, because he does. He's always known somehow. "Me too."

Harry smiles at him, soft and content and he closes his eyes, rests his head on Louis' chest like he could stay there forever.

*

_december, 2023_

They spend the holidays at Louis' mum's and she keeps asking about grandbabies and it's just a joke maybe, but they haven't talked about it, not seriously, and maybe it's making Louis a bit nervous.

"Do you want to?" he asks, when they're finally alone.

"Want to what?"

"Have a baby."

Harry smiles, small and surprised, wraps an arm around his waist, gets him closer. "Well, you do have good child-bearing hips…" he says, pretending to inspect them.

"You're an asshole."

"Are you sure you want to have a baby with me then?"

"Wait, does this mean you want to?" he asks, because Harry loves kids, but he's not sure, still, not sure if it's the right time and if he's ready for the responsibilty.

"Of course I do," he says, like it's obvious, like Louis's an idiot.

And he's glad, so, so glad to be made to feel like an idiot this one time.

"Okay then," he breathes out.

"Okay," Harry says, touching their foreheads together, smiling so wide.

*

_august, 2025_

Harry's sitting in their kitchen when he wakes up.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I was passing and saw your car was here."

"Yeah."

"You want breakfast?"

"Okay."

Harry makes him Eggs Benedict and he hasn't thought of them as roommates in ages but maybe that was actually the best time for them, when it was familiar and comfortable and they were just kids with no clue about what their lives were going to become.

"Do you ever wonder what our lives would've been like?" he asks, staring down at his fork. And he's suddenly back on a pavement in Doncaster, the streetlamp above him flickering, thinking about anonymity and what it would be like to fade into the grey of the city, thinking about Harry and how he's worth it a thousand times over.

"What do you mean?" He looks puzzled.

"I mean, without - without the band, without everything."

"I don't -"

"You don't think about it sometimes? Like, lying in bed late on a Sunday morning, sunlight streaming through the window, you don't think about your life?"

"Louis, we're not even middle-aged yet. You're so overdramatic." And Louis's missed that so much. 

"No, I'm serious. You don't think about how your life could have turned out?"

"I - I think about what my life _is_. And what it's going to be." And Louis almost holds his breath. "I think about you. And a house full of kids. Or cats. Whichever we decide on. I think about all the amazing things we still have to do together." And Louis's pretty sure Harry isn't breathing as he says it either.

"What about dogs? Don't I get a say in this?" he says, feigning indignation.

Harry laughs a little and it's the most beautiful sound he's heard in the month since he left.

"You asked me what I want from you," Louis says, all in a rush. "I want you to stay. I just want you to stay here with me always. That's all I want. And it's selfish and awful and stupid but that's the truth."

"I wasn't just going to leave, you know. I was going to talk to you about it first. And if it wasn't the right time, for us, I wouldn't -"

"But don't you think I'd fucking hate myself every day after if I told you no?" And that's it, really. That's the problem. Always has been. It's not about Harry leaving him. That's not the worst thing. The worst thing is Harry staying here and with him, and not being who he's supposed to be. Louis can't even bear thinking about it; he's purposely avoided thinking about it for the last five years. (Sometimes those nagging thoughts make their way through the tiny cracks in his resolve though, and they're always asking the same thing. If _he's_ worth it for Harry. If he's ever been worth it. A disturbing number of times, the answer's no.)

The way Harry's looking at him now, he thinks he knows it all, every single doubt he's ever had, has always known it.

"It was real, you know, all of it. I know you think I just go off on whims and I just decided I wanted the whole white picket fence thing for a while and then I'd eventually get bored of it. But this - you aren't a whim. You never have been."

"What am I then?"

"You're the only person I've ever been in love with." And he says it like he said it the first time, like there never was any uncertainty. Like it's always been true.

"I think - I think we need some time to figure out where we go from here." Because it shouldn't be so easy. They should have to work for it, the way they always have. That's what makes it real.

Harry looks surprised, and then he nods. "Okay," he says quietly.

"Are you staying?" he asks him evenly.

"Yeah, yeah."

*

_july, 2020_

It's 2020 and he hasn't seen him in a year and a half and then he's at his door at 2am.

"It's done," he says, and that's all.

"What? The tour?" Louis asks stupidly, not making sense of any of this.

Harry laughs. "The band. The label. It's totally fucked."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" And he's genuinely concerned now. Because Harry doesn't deal with failure well. Or at all.

"I sold my house before I left. Great idea, that. I just got off a plane and realised I had nowhere to go," and then he laughs kind of wildly and Louis wonders if he's drunk or high or something for a second - but it's worse, he's actually freaking out.

Louis has this mad second where he just wants to grab onto him and hold him as tightly as he can.

"You should probably come in."

"I just need to crash for a night."

"Yeah, fine. I'll go make up the guest room -" 

He turns to go but then Harry says, "Louis?"

"Yeah?"

He just wraps his arms around him and he feels exactly like he remembers, smells the same too, and it's awkward because his bag is still between them but it's the most at peace Louis's felt in years.

He lets him go and drops the bag and his guitar, sits on the couch.

When he comes back, he's already passed out right there.

*

He sleeps for sixteen hours.

Louis' making breakfast when he comes into the kitchen.

"Hey," he says, running a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair. "I thought I slept longer than that."

"It's 6pm."

Harry laughs softly and sits down at the table.

He eats like he's been starving for a century. It's strange, seeing him like this; he can't remember the last time he, or anyone, had to take care of Harry.

"This is literally the best thing I've ever tasted," he says.

"Calm down, mate. It's just a fryup."

"I feel like I haven't had a home-cooked meal in years," he sighs.

Louis wonders if he really means that he hasn't had a _home_ in years.

Louis gets his coat from where he left it and hangs it up. He leaves an extra towel in the bathroom for him.

*

_july, 2010_

His eyes are huge and green. His lips are red and shiny like he's been biting them. Louis doesn't know what he'd ever have to be nervous about. He'd heard him sing and he's good, really good. He could be a rockstar someday. He could be -

"Hi, I'm Harry," he says and his smile is almost impossibly warm and wide.

"Louis," he says, and he should probably be weirded out, because people don't just strike up conversations at the urinals. There's something about him though - this fascinating mixture of confidence and vulnerability. It's kind of terrifying, especially to Louis who's always thought of them as mutually exclusive.

"Nice to meet you, Louis," he says.

"You too," he says and means it, truly.

They wash their hands and Harry's almost at the door when he says, "Hey, wait."

"Yeah?" he says, spinning around.

"Can I - Can I get a picture with you?"

And that smile is back, with even more force behind it this time.

And now he has it captured for all time on his phone. He stares at the picture for a moment too long and wonders what will become of them both. What it'll mean to him in a year, or five, ten.

"Good luck, Harry," he says, finally looking up at him again.

"You too. I'll see you around, Louis."

And he's gone.

*

_august, 2025_

So, someone had gotten pictures of him checking out of the hotel and the story blows up, way too late. It's not as bad as it could've been anyway. His mum calls and he has to reassure her that it's all fine, he's home now, it was all just a misunderstanding. He turns his phone off, after lingering on the picture on his lock screen for a second, and goes out onto the porch.

Harry's sitting on the porch swing, watching the stars.

"My mum called," he tells him, sitting down.

"Mine too," Harry says with a wry grin.

"I'm sorry," he says, whispers almost, because it's his fault. Maybe there were always these underlying issues, but he's the one who left in the middle of the night and then wouldn't even talk to him after.

"For what?"

"For leaving. For being an asshole."

"You promised me - you promised that this, this would be forever." And God, maybe he's never really known what that meant to Harry, how much he believed it. How much he's always trusted Louis. Trusted him in ways Louis has never been able to trust anyone.

"You promised me something once too. You promised you wouldn't just _leave_ me here."

"I don't - I don't know what I can do. I can't take that back. I can't change it. I don't know what I have to do for you to forgive me."

"I don't know either," he admits, finally.

"Just - just look at me for a second, Lou," Harry says, like he's desperate, like this is the last chance he'll ever get.

Louis raises his eyes to his, sees him breathe in and steady himself.

"What do you see when you look at me? Do you just see that, do you just see me leaving or -"

"No," he says, and the answer's as plain as day, it always has been. "I see you coming back. I always see you coming back home to me."

"Is that - is that enough?"

"Yeah. Yes."

"Okay then."

*

_january, 2026_

He gets on a plane. Louis watches him fly away. He goes back home, but he's not alone; he has the puppy that Harry had gotten him for his birthday. They watch bad reality TV in bed and when Louis wakes up in the morning, he's not thinking about all the lives he never lived, he's thinking about Harry calling in a couple hours and starting his new presenting job on Monday and how Harry had said the puppy's in preparation for the actual baby they'll start working on adopting when he's back from touring and that Niall and Liam and Zayn are coming over to play FIFA later and how fucking amazing all of it is going to be.

It's not perfect, but it almost feels like it could be.

*


End file.
